


Flowers in your hair

by WhiskyNotTea



Series: Whisky's Other Outlander Tales [15]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Gen, Show Compliant, missing moment, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 07:43:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18245432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskyNotTea/pseuds/WhiskyNotTea
Summary: A voice prompts Joan to free Bree and help her get to Lallybroch in 4x07.





	Flowers in your hair

Claire. The witch. The first wife. **  
**

_That was Bree’s mother?_

Joan was lying in her bed, her chest heaving, her breathing uneven. She could still hear her Ma’s shouts inside her head, the echoes of her harsh words repeating themselves, becoming more frightful with every passing minute. Her breath hitched in her throat when she realized she was afraid; for the first time since she could remember herself, she was truly afraid of her mother. The way her blue eyes shone, how she kept her hands in tight fists ready for a fight, the disgust in her face when she talked about Claire. It terrified Joan. Her Ma hadn’t been that angry even when Marsali had eloped with the frog. She had been hurt, back then, and disappointed. But she hadn’t tried to kill anyone.

Now Ma had locked a lass in their house. The lass who lived with them, who had fixed their cupboard, who had braided Joan’s hair in the garden. The lass who was singing just a few minutes ago.

_If you’re going to San Francisco, be sure to wear some flowers in your hair…_

Joan ran her hands along her braid, feeling the flowers between her fiery red hair. Tears ran across her cheekbones and fell on the homespun sheets, but she didn’t mind them. She wished Marsali was here. Marsali always knew what to do, and Ma listened to her. Maybe she would calm her down, make her realize that she couldn’t keep Bree imprisoned.

Joan didn’t dare talk to her mother. She didn’t know what to say, anyway. Ma never listened when someone talked about Claire, there was only shouting and rushing away to her room to cry. So Joan didn’t move from her bed, and when her heart stopped thumping in her chest she stayed quiet, listening to the noises of the house. Bree was trying to open the window, she realised, but Joan knew that this window would never open. Even Da couldn’t fix it. She would stay there, trapped. Far away from her mother, her father, her man.

Her Ma was always saying that Da was bewitched. That Claire had taken him from her. But Joan had seen Da, and he had talked to her. She knew by now that if Da was bewitched, so was Marsali with Fergus, and Fergus didn’t look like a witch. Joan had recognized the same smile hidden behind people’s lips, reaching their eyes, when they talked about the ones they loved. She had seen that in Da’s eyes when he told her about his first wife, in Marsali’s when she shared her secret and kissed her goodbye the night before she went away, in uncle Ian’s when he was looking at auntie Jenny, in Bree’s when she talked about her man who was waiting for her. She had seen it in her Ma’s face, that Hogmanay when her gaze had fell on Da. They had all the same sparkle in their eyes, as if hope was rooted in their chest and bloomed every time they said the name of their beloved ones.

No, Joan believed what Da had said. He had a bond with Claire, a bond that keeps people together, forever. Ma couldna see that, but Joan could.

The door from Ma’s room opened, and Joan bit her lip, wondering if she would go back to Bree to let her out. She didn’t. Her mother left the house and Joan gasped, unable to believe that her mother would proceed with her plan blaming Bree of witchcraft. Bree was no witch!

Bree was kind, and nice, and she was the only person who had spent time with Joan ever since Marsali had left. It was lonely at Balriggan. Ma always had chores to do, and even when she didn’t, she preferred a companionable silence while knitting. Joan had read all the books Da had bought for her and Marsali, again and again. And the letters Marsali had sent from America. She was so far away, but when Joan read the letters she was almost sure she could hear her voice through the paper. And her laughter. Marsali had the most wonderful laughter, and Joan hoped she would laugh a lot now that she had her own family. A wee bairn to love, and kiss, and hug. If only they were closer, so that she could hold him too, and dote on him, and play with him, and tell him all the stories she had read. Just as Marsali had done with her.

Bree had told her stories, too. Stories of places faraway, and even a story of a princess who kissed a frog and turned him to a prince, too. That reminded her a lot of Marsali and Fergus. Maybe one day she would tell that story to their bairn. Together with the stories Da had read to her every night, by the fireplace.

A breeze snuck into the room from the window panel. She turned her head abruptly, to find the window closed. And then he heard his voice, as if it was coming from miles away, from the other side of the planet, soft and salty, rolling down mountains and emerging from the ocean.

_Ye’re a good lass, Joannie. A brave lass. Whatever ye need to know, ye’ll find it in here._

Her hand shot up, over her heart, but Da’s voice faced, until the only salt she could taste was that of her own tears. She closed her eyes, waiting, expecting to feel his lips on her forehead as she had done every time before he kissed her goodnight, but nothing came. Apart from his words.

A good, brave lass.

Joan heard Bree walking back and forth in the room just above hers. Her steps were desperate. And Joan knew exactly what she had to do.


End file.
